


The Night Was Also Moist

by ifonenight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ... sort of, Blood, Body Horror, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description, M/M, Not Funny, Period Cramps, it's really gross guys i'm warning you, period pains, spell gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7852660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifonenight/pseuds/ifonenight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Isn't that the story of his life, really? </p><p>Only a little Freakville's blues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Was Also Moist

**Author's Note:**

> This. Fic. Is. Gross. If you don't stomach blood and gross body horror, please don't read.  
> Also, is not beta'd. So even more gross!
> 
> End notes hold all the answers.  
> Be strong.

The night was dark and stormy, rain pounding against the window like wet, dead fingers begging to be let inside, the blackness around him only disturbed by a flash of lightning. He buried his head in his hands, shivering and flinching when the thunder rolled.

“What have I done?” he murmured to himself, over and over again. “What the hell have I done.”

His tummy rumbled and roared, and he twisted with a moan, trying to find a position where the pain wasn't as sharp. 

“What have I done,” he kept mumbling, tears welling up to his eyes. He shut them closed, hugging his middle section, fighting against the sobs while white flashes of pain darted through his body without mercy. He put his head on his arms, alone and hurting, and rocked himself in the dark. 

He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard they keys turning in the front door’s lock. 

Steps crossed the threshold, then halted. Dean listened to the door closing, the lightswitch clicking, and saw the darkness diffusing somewhere down the corridor. 

He whimpered mournfully.

The noises stopped. “Dean?” called Castiel’s voice. There was confusion in his tone, and caution: Dean was not supposed to be home. In fact, he was supposed to be with Krissy, making sure that everything was okay. Krissy lived alone with other three kids, all witches like her, and Jody, the Sheriff, only permitted that because Freakville’s people had agreed to check on them periodically. 

Today had been Dean’s turn.  

Dean curled on himself and let out a garbled sound. 

He could hear Cas hurrying down the hall and getting closer, all worry and protectiveness. 

“Dean! Dean, what happened?”

A thud near his knees, a hand on his shoulder. 

“Dean, talk to me. Are you okay? What happened?”

Dean disentangled from his balled pose, stiff after so much time being still in the same position, and leaned heavily on Cas, welcoming his warmth and the arms that automatically went to circle his body. 

He made to speak, but a new stab of pain rippled through his pelvis, and he hunched over Cas, gripping his wrist in a crushing hold.

“Dean,” Cas said, voice very alarmed. “Dean, tell me what’s happening, are you hurt?”

“Cas,” Dean groaned, letting his head fall on his boyfriend’s shoulder and sighing in relief after that particularly vicious pang had passed. 

Cas traded a hand in his sweaty hair, brushing them off his forehead. He gently pushed Dean’s head off his shoulder, despite Dean’s weak protests, and lowered his head to catch Dean’s eyes.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” he asked, moving his hand to massage the back of Dean’s neck.  

Dean inhaled and exhaled deeply a couple of times, assessing how he felt. The pain seemed to have subsided, still running in the lower part of his torso but toned-down. 

“I was checking on Krissy,” he started, voiced rasped by all the groaning and moaning he’d done. “When I got there, she was having pretty bad period cramps. I tried to make her tea but it came out awful, so she threw it at me. I did something stupid like getting mad and telling her I  _ had died _ before and to man up, right when she was having a twinge, and she screamed something at me and then I was writhing on the floor in pain. Her friends said it’s a spell that simulate period pains and should wear off in a couple of days.”

Cas had kept massaging his nape, shoulders, everywhere he could reach while Dean was talking, and Dean felt exactly the second Cas relaxed against his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing Dean’s forehead and hugging him tightly, but there was such a relieved note in his voice that Dean couldn’t help but smile faintly. He guessed he did scare Cas a little.

He sighed, burrowing himself into Cas’ chest. The pain was manageable for now, but he knew it would come back in waves with vengeance.

“I know she suffers a lot, more than it’s common,” he said, closing his eyes. “But the tea was damn hot.” 

Cas said nothing, just kept rubbing his back in gentle motions. Dean let himself relax in his arms. 

“It means I'll have to take care of you a little, then,” Cas said, and Dean could feel his smile against his own cheek. “Put Star Wars on, make herbal tea, heat a hot water bottle for you. Rubbing your tummy until you feel better.”

Dean grinned and nuzzled Cas’ throat. Cas was the only one he would accept such treatment from. “In a little while,” he agreed, squeezing Cas’ waist. 

For a while he drifted, lulled by Cas’ touches, so he didn't realize immediately that there was a strange, moist sensation between his thighs, slowly creeping down his legs.

He furrowed his brows and looked down at his crotch, but it was too dark to see anything against his deep blue jeans.

“Uh, Cas?” he said, lowering a hand on his inner thigh. The fabric was damp.

He brought his hand before his nose, sniffing at his fingers, and recognized the faint scent of copper.

“Cas!” he said again, alarmed, and Cas looked down sharply at him, arms tightening instinctively. 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

Dean swallowed. “The spell.”

 

It turned out the kids had found the spell a couple of weeks before, in an ancient book turned up suddenly in their old home’s library. 

Cas had asked to see it, and Dean had watched him pale when Krissy brought it to them, brushing his fingers on the hard, black cover; downright widen his eyes in horror when he had read the spell’s words.

“Krissy,” he had growled, and Krissy had flinched back, cowering instinctively before apparent Cas’ fury. 

But Dean knew him. Cas had been fucking terrified. 

“Did you understand what you were saying?” 

Krissy’s cheeks had been red, eyes scared and guilty. She had shaken her head. “Only vaguely.” 

“It's the fucking first rule to know what you're saying Krissy!” Cas had almost yelled, and if he hadn't got it already, that would have been Dean clue that he was downright fucked. 

But Krissy hadn't been watching Cas, she had been staring at Dean with huge, frantic eyes. 

“What have I done?” she had whispered, and Dean, fighting against the pain, had stood up and gone to hug her tight. 

 

Now he was bed-bound, trying his hardest not to trash in agony. He couldn't bear the desperate look on Sam, Charlie, Krissy’s face from where they were cleaning him and keeping him company, when he didn't manage to stop the jerks and twitches, barely holding off from screaming.

The spell was old and dark, and didn't only simulate period pains, he  _ created _ them, which meant that it had to make what caused them in the first place if they weren't there already. Uterus, ovaries, the whole apparatus. 

It was not a process males usually survived, unless previously prepared. Organs were squashed, teared open to make space for new ones, and Dean had been leaking blood from his dick for days. A constant flow, thinned and slowed down by Cas litanies; he was fighting magic with magic, but hadn't managed to stop the spell yet, growing more and more tired hour after hour. 

Dean had realized he wouldn’t have made it after the second day, when the stab of pain had graduated to the continue feeling of thousand invisible knives nestled in his pelvis, hundreds of hammers beating on his stomach. He hadn't tried to stop Cas, not yet, knowing Cas would have needed to keep going until he couldn't anymore.

But come the fifth day, the blood pouring from the slit of his dick had thickened, and Dean had started to have problems breathing. 

By the sixth day, he was ready.

“Cas,” he said softly, scratchily, in the soft light of an early afternoon. Cas turned his tired eyes on him, never stopping his chants.

“Cas, you know it's time,” Dean whispered, squeezing weakly Cas’ fingers.

Cas’ breath hitched, almost stopping his counterspell. Dean felt a twinge of pain in his balls, that had shrunken considerably in the week he'd spent under the spell. He could barely feel them now.

“Cas,” he said more insistently, tears welling up without his permission. “Cas, please. Please, just use your mojo to turn down the pain for a couple of hours,” he begged, gritting his teeth against another twist of the knives. “Please just hold me.”

Cas’ face twisted up, obviously trying not to cry. His voice wavered, gasped, and slowly stopped. 

The blood flow immediately speeded up. Dean could feel blobs of it pushing past his slit, wetting his tights and the towel beneath him.

Cas picked up again his chants, but they were different now, more musical than the sharp words he was saying before. 

Dean gasped when he felt the pain slowly receding, becoming only a distant sensation he could ignore after days of hell.

He turned his face towards Cas, and he knew he must have looked mad, grinning big and thooty with bloodshot eyes like he was.  

But Cas only scooted on the bed next to him, laying down and cradling Dean head against his chest. 

“Sorry for being selfish,” he murmured, kissing with trembling lips Dean’s hair. 

“It's okay,” Dean whispered, “I forgive you.”

Cas sobbed once, twice, then composed himself again and brushed Dean’s neck, starting a gentle massage that had Dean sagging against him in an heartbeat.

Dean managed to push himself up for a last kiss, tender and tired, before falling against Cas again, and closing his eyes, ready to slee-

 

“Whatcha writing?”

Metatron jumps like God himself has got him writing fanfictions about the righteous man and the wayward son. 

But, no God here, just old lil’ Gabriel. 

“Uhm,” Metatron stutters, blushing. “I had a little trouble writing, so I tried to... exercise with something else?”

Gabriel peaks at the paper over his shoulder and snorts. 

“Dude,  _ Freakville _ ? Really?” 

“I was still working on the names,” Metatron protests muttering, hurrying to cover his scripts. 

“Nu uh,” Gabriel says, open hand already waiting in front of Metatron’s face. The scribes crosses his eyes following it. “Give that masterpiece to me, Mrs. Shelley.” 

Metatron watches him, confused, and Gabriel wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, Frankenstein?” 

Metatron doesn't seem any less perplexed, so Gabriel rolls his eyes and snatches the papers, and before Metatron can say anything, he cancels then from existence. 

Metatron’s mouth is wide open in disbelief, but Gabriel shrugs. “You know Dad doesn't want any unofficial side work inspired by his own.” He smiles and finger-guns Metatron. “Copyright, baby.” 

“You won't tell him, right?” Metatron says, worried, but Gabriel shakes his head, conciliatory. 

“Nah. Just don't write more.”

“I won't” Metatron assures him hastily, but Gabriel somehow doubts it. He pretends to buy it, though, and leaves.

On his ways to his favorite Heaven he picks up a little toddler, who is bubbling to himself and giggling like a tiny idiot. Babies are adorable.

“See, Cas,” Gabriel says, while Castiel tugs on his blond feathers and slobbers all over him. “I’ve already saved your life and you're barely born. Who knows how many other times I'll have to, eh?” 

Cas watches him for a second with all his three heads, then starts shrieking at him, amused. 

Gabriel sighs and resigns himself to another day of peekaboo. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the [Spn Coldest Hit's challenge](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/), [August's round](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/148681056700/augusts-prompt-posting-dates-20-23-of-august).
> 
>  **Prompt** : your fic MUST have the title and you MUST use those two paragraphs to begin your fic -> **Title** : The Night Was Also Moist; **Beginning Paragraphs** : The night was dark and stormy, rain pounding against the window like wet, dead fingers begging to be let inside, the blackness around him only disturbed by a flash of lightning. He buried his head in his hands, shivering and flinching when the thunder rolled. “What have I done?” he murmured to himself, over and over again. “What the hell have I done.”
> 
> Blood, body horror, unnecessary complex plot, (unplanned but unseen) grammar mistakes. I have high hopes for this one.


End file.
